


A Ripple in a Churning Sea

by paperdaydreams



Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: Assassination, Blood and Violence, Gen, Internal Conflict, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdaydreams/pseuds/paperdaydreams
Summary: Muddled by conflicting thoughts and internal turmoil, even an honorable Samurai like Sakai Jin is bound to suffer the pressure war inflicts on people - as change is imminent for all.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	A Ripple in a Churning Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Exploring the coastlines inspired a vision of high cliffs and surging waves, where the soul is bared to the salt wind for judgement.
> 
> Minor story themes/environmental spoilers.

Does it matter, what one man's efforts accomplish in the broad scheme of fate?

Sakai Jin stares hard at the distant blue line where the open sky meets the swelling ocean, her unfathomable depths tossing and hurling fiercely upon the rocks at the base of the great cliffs bordering the eastern coastline. Foam crashes passionately against the unyielding stone, and though her efforts seem in vain to a passing eye, time is on her side and will surely see the cliff carved at its depth. 

The highest of mountains will transform from impenetrable peaks aspiring to touch the heavens, into the finest of pebbles, rounded by force and patience.

Time is gradual yet constant, destroying all in its wake, beating the strongest to submission, winning the battles the bravest once conquered. Time is the undefeatable enemy, heartless and ruthless, but it is certain and honest. It must exist for all else to continue, as while it destroys and reshapes all in its path, it has left room for new growth to take root, and for new dreams to be seeded. 

While these cliffs will not last eternal, the ocean shall, and the tide will come and go as it pleases. It's the promise of the earth. 

Jin wonders if the same can be said of war. 

Lives pinched out as easily as fingers to a flame, the beach became a bloody massacre before his eyes. All that death... he is surprised the ocean does not boil red. 

How can he, the last Samurai of Tsushima, do _anything_ when he is against the very nature of the world - against fate? Is this his destiny, to question his worth, his purpose? What is he, but a single man against a militia prepared to wipe the slate clean of his people? 

And to stand his ground, rally men and women willing to reclaim their home through bloodshed and warfare - will it be worth it? Will there be enough of them left to even call this island a home? 

Jin doesn't know.

For once, the wind does not provide clarity.

○

The roads seem burdened by the presence of bandits, making travel difficult. Each village or farm burnt to ash Jin passes by is a stark reminder of the Mongol invasion. 

By daylight, Jin seeks out those who may help him in his cause, Sora's sturdy hooves carrying them down winding paths and blood-stained bridges. The sun is warm on his back, and the rains wash away the road dust.

But by nightfall, when the moon slides behind the heavy clouds and the world becomes a shadow, Jin cannot find the comfort of rest and disappears to begin a hunt.

As with time, all in its way endure - or change.

The Mongol camp was spoken of by many a villager or farmer in the last three days of travel, all sharing the worry their homes would be in further danger should they remain on the forest's edge. Jin promised to see to it.

By the cloak of darkness, he scrambles beneath the perimeter wall and unsheaths his _tanto_. 

There, just by the edge of the tent, stands a lone sentry. Jin draws near, breathing shallow, and moves without hesitation as he plunges it into the crux of neck and jaw. Hot liquid dribbles over Jin's fingers, and is erupted in a violent spray as his prey collapses to the dirt. He flicks the blade's tip down, scattering black droplets.

The tent is empty, but for the usual accoutrements kept by Mongol leaders. He gathers all he can carry, stowing supplies away in his pockets, and exits the tent to continue the hunt.

The remaining are few in count, and Jin suspects reinforcements were due. His arrows arc through the mist to strike down the men atop watchtowers, his _tanto_ cuts throats deftly in darkness, his bloodied hand pressed over their mouths to prevent them from calling out. 

There is an excited pounding in his ears, as he tosses a wind chime for the final Mongol to stumble upon, and then he is upon them with a flick of metal.

Jin lights the camp ablaze, for the reinforcements to find come morning, and disappears into the waving grass. The adrenaline dies slowly, ebbing to the hiss of wind, and the slow drum of his heart. 

Happening upon a narrow stream parting the dense grass field, Jin bows over it to wash the red stain from his hands, and pauses to stare upon the blood-spattered visage gazing back from the clear, inky ribbon. 

There is no honor in what he's done, robbing lives like some rotten thief. He sees his father's disapproval in his glare, his uncle's disappointment. 

Jin lashes out, his reflection distorted in a watery splash. He cannot face their judgement without the presence of retaliation, of anger.

But his fury is quick to melt into regretful sorrow, and his hand trails in the water, a cool kiss upon his dirtied hand. Forgiveness he doesn't deserve, nor should he seek.

The ripples have already vanished, tugged away by the stream's quick current.

He washes his face hastily, and brings forth his _tanto_ , sticky with drying blood. He dedicates the time to cleaning the sheath out, wipes the blade until it shines silver, and rises to whistle for Sora.

Jin finds a quiet overhang beneath a fallen tree to shelter for the night, but the ground is hard against his head, a stone seemingly pressing into his body despite none being there. 

The smell of copper blood and the vile seduction of luring men to death haunts his mind. He is not the boy with a gentle heart, nor is he the man whose oath to uphold honor and righteousness defined him.

Jin fears whomever he was, or could've been, perished on that blood-soaked beach - and the man who walked away is no more than a ghost tethered to the world.

He shuts his eyes, and dreams of waves crashing into the cliffs along the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> The fact I wrote exactly a thousand words boggles my mind. I have noooo idea how it happened.


End file.
